1 I met Silas Ford during the darkest year of his life. It was a night defined by a torrential New York downpour. I found him in a literal gutter, his clothes paper-thin and soaked through with blood. He had been beaten within an inch of his life. Back then, I was working two dead-end service jobs just to keep him in a hospital bed and pay off the surgeons. When he finally pulled through, I spent a year dragging him out of the psychological wreckage. Then, I spent three more years in a cramped, thirty-square-meter studio in Queens, watching him rebuild his empire from nothing. He used to hold my hands—calloused from scrubbing floors—and swear to me: “Once I take back what’s mine, I’m going to make you the happiest woman in the world.” And for a while, he kept that promise. He became the toast of Manhattan’s elite, a man famously, almost pathologically, devoted to his wife. Until our third wedding anniversary. I was heading to the parking garage of his office building when I saw his black Escalade. It was rocking—a rhythmic, violent motion that didn’t stop for a long time. I stood there, paralyzed, the air in the garage feeling like lead in my lungs. Eventually, the door opened. Silas stepped out, his silhouette as familiar to me as my own heartbeat. He reached back into the car to help a slender woman out, his arm draped possessively around her waist. He whispered something in her ear that made her erupt into a fit of giggles. “I never would have guessed,” she teased, her voice like a jagged piece of glass. “The legendary Silas Ford, the man who worships his wife, actually has a side chick.” Silas didn’t even hesitate. His voice was casual, light, as if he were discussing the weather. “Well,” he said. “She’s just… gotten old.” 2 Hearing those words felt like a physical blow. It wasn’t just a sting; it was a total internal collapse. I was twenty-four when I “awoke” in this world—a stranger in a strange land. Silas was the first person I truly connected with. We survived the lean years together. We shared the bitterness of hunger and the sweetness of our first real paycheck. We had lived a lifetime in seven years. Seven years. My entire youth. And it all boiled down to: She’s gotten old. I forced a brittle, ugly smile. I watched the elevator display. It stopped on the 16th floor. The irony was a physical weight in my stomach. She lived in the same luxury high-rise we did, just a few floors below our penthouse. How many nights had they spent together while I sat upstairs, keeping his dinner warm? The bitterness surged like a tide. I took a breath, smoothed my hair, and walked into our home as if nothing had changed. I sat on the sofa, the TV flickering with some meaningless show, waiting for him. When he finally walked in, he didn’t look at me. He headed straight for the master bath, stripping off his jacket. He glanced at the spread on the dining table—the steak, the wine, the candles I’d lit for our anniversary. “Summer,” he said, his voice flat. “Don’t wait up for me to eat anymore. Just have yours. I’m exhausted, I’m going to skip dinner and shower.” He didn’t wait for a reply. He just closed the bathroom door. 3 I sat at the table alone. I picked up a fork and forced a mouthful of cold steak into my mouth. It tasted like ash. When Silas emerged from the shower, he walked past me with a gaze so indifferent it made my skin crawl. The man who used to look at me with such fierce adoration was gone. In his place was a stranger who found my presence a chore. “Silas,” I said, my voice steady. “Sit down. Eat something with me.” He sighed, checking his watch. “I told you, I’m not hungry.” “Eat,” I repeated. “You might not get to eat my cooking ever again after tonight.” He frowned, his irritation flaring. He sat down purely to pacify me, taking a few aggressive bites. “There. Happy?” he snapped. “This is freezing, Summer. It’s terrible. Stop being so dramatic; it’s not like we can’t afford a private chef. You don’t need to do this.” A lump formed in my throat, choking me. I remembered him saying, Baby, your cooking is the best thing in the world. I could eat this every day for the rest of my life. I remembered him saying, I hate seeing you in the kitchen. I want to be the one taking care of you from now on. He had forgotten. He had forgotten the promises, the struggle, and the fact that today was our anniversary. His phone buzzed on the table. He checked it ten times in five minutes. 4 A notification popped up, and he immediately dropped his fork to head into the study. “Go to sleep,” he said. “Something came up with the firm.” He didn’t notice the small, involuntary smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he turned away. Later that night, curled up in bed, my stomach began to cramp—a sharp, stabbing pain from the cold food and the stress. Silas wasn’t there. I texted him; no reply. I called; busy signal. I got up to find some antacids. When I couldn’t find them in the kitchen, I headed toward the study. Silas had always insisted on “total transparency” to give me security. He never locked his doors; he even used to take calls on speakerphone in front of me. He seemed to have forgotten to break that habit. I stopped at the door, hearing his best friend, Grant Miller, on the line. “Silas, man,” Grant’s voice was skeptical. “Do you even remember who stayed by your side when you were a nobody? Do you remember how much you loved her?” “I haven’t forgotten,” Silas replied. “It’s just… she’s become so dull. So predictable.” “In other words, you’re bored,” Grant surmised. Silas didn’t deny it. “So you’re really messing around with that new intern? What’s her name? Tiffany?” Silas’s tone sharpened with defensive pride. “‘Messing around’ is a bit crude, don’t you think?” “Wait. You’re catching feelings for this girl?” Silas gave a soft, wistful laugh. “She’s just so… vibrant. So innocent. She looks at me like I’m a hero, not like someone who remembers me when I was bleeding in a gutter.” “Be careful, Silas,” Grant warned. “We all saw what you went through for Summer. You were willing to lose everything for her. If she finds out, there’s no coming back.” “She won’t find out,” Silas said, his voice dripping with chilling confidence. “And even if she does… I don’t think she’d ever walk away. Not from this life. Not after seven years of her youth. Honestly, Grant, sometimes I wonder if she only saved me back then because she knew who I really was. It was an investment.” 5 His words turned my blood to ice. He had no idea. Saving him—”completing his route”—was the mission the System gave me when I first arrived in this world. But my final task was supposed to be leaving him at the height of his love for me. That was my ticket home. I had agonized over it for three days back then. How could I not fall for the man who looked at me like I was his entire universe? In the end, I chose him. I stayed. I sacrificed my only chance to return to my real world because I thought our love was the exception. The pain in my stomach intensified. It wasn’t just the food. It was the realization that his recent coldness wasn’t “stress.” He was simply done with me. He was so confident in my devotion. He thought my seven years were a cage that kept me trapped at his feet. He was using my love as a weapon against me. 6 I knew Tiffany’s name. I remembered the first time Silas mentioned her. He had acted so annoyed. “The new intern is a disaster,” he’d said, rubbing his temples. “She’s not half as sharp as you, Summer.” “Then why keep her?” I’d asked. “She’s the daughter of a major partner. I owe the guy a favor. It’s a political move.” Seeing my silence, he had pulled me into his lap, sounding desperate. “Don’t overthink it, okay? I’ll get rid of her as soon as the deal closes. She’s clumsy and honestly, she’s a headache to look at.” I had laughed, and he had looked relieved—as if he were genuinely terrified of losing me. I realized now that she was the first woman he had ever bothered to complain about to me. It was the oldest trick in the book. 7 By the time I crawled back into bed, the physical pain had gone numb, eclipsed by the hollow ache in my chest. I curled into a ball, trying to hold myself together. The next morning, Silas was gone. It was our housekeeper’s day off—I’d given her the holiday for our anniversary—so I dragged myself into the kitchen to make some simple oatmeal. I didn’t hear Silas come back in. Suddenly, he was standing behind me, his expression tight with disapproval. “You shouldn’t be doing this,” he said, reaching for the pot. “I’ve got it,” I said, my grip tightening on the handle. In the struggle, the boiling liquid splashed onto the back of my hand. I hissed in pain. Silas immediately turned off the stove and dragged my hand under the cold tap. “Clumsy,” he muttered, his voice cold. “I told you to stay out of the kitchen. Stay here, I’ll get the ointment.” His phone rang before he could step away. He checked it, glancing at me. This time, he didn’t use the speakerphone. But in the quiet kitchen, I heard everything. “Silas… I had a nightmare,” a girl’s voice sobbed on the other end. “I dreamt you didn’t want me anymore.” I saw Silas’s jaw relax. He was suppressing a smile. He didn’t get the ointment. He just dropped my hand and grabbed his keys. “Find the medicine yourself,” he said, not looking me in the eye. “There’s an emergency at the office.” He didn’t even grab his coat before he slammed the door. 8 He wasn’t gone five minutes before I got a friend request on Instagram. The bio said: Tiffany L. I hit accept with trembling fingers. Immediately, a photo popped up in my DMs. It was a selfie of her lying in Silas’s arms. “Sorry, Summer. Silas is just so impatient. He wore me out this morning.” “He says I’m his breath of fresh air. He told me you’ve gotten… well, ‘stale’ was the word he used.” “He won’t divorce you yet because he feels guilty about that whole ‘saving his life’ thing. But what do you think will happen if I tell him I’m pregnant?” A bitter laugh escaped me. He had told her everything. Our entire history was just pillow talk for them. I took a deep breath and screenshotted the conversation. I walked to the window and looked out at the New York skyline. I had no one in this world but him. If he was gone, I was truly alone. But I wasn’t going to stay a ghost in his house. I summoned the System—the interface that had been silent for years. “I’d like to trade my accumulated points,” I whispered. “I know I can’t go home anymore. But I want a new heart. I want to leave Silas Ford and ensure he can never find me again.” The System’s mechanical voice flickered in my mind. “Are you certain, Host? Once the ‘Disappearance Protocol’ is activated, it cannot be reversed.” “I’m certain.” “Understood. The protocol will take thirty days to finalize.” 9 One month. The countdown would end on the exact date I first met him. I began systematically purging my life. I packed a small bag of essentials and threw away years of mementos. Silas came home early that evening, but he went straight to the walk-in closet and started packing his own suitcase. “I have a business trip for a few days,” he said, his tone dismissive. “Why doesn’t your secretary pack for you?” I asked. Silas froze. He slowly turned around, his face a mask of calm. “She’s a young woman, Summer. It wouldn’t be appropriate for her to handle my personal things.” “Is that so?” I leaned against the doorframe, mocking him with a look. His face darkened. “Don’t start with the irrational jealousy. There’s nothing going on.” “Did I say there was? Why are you so defensive? Did something happen?” He realized he’d overplayed his hand. He gritted his teeth. “I don’t have time for this.” He zipped his suitcase and pushed past me without a second glance. 10 As soon as he left, his grandmother arrived. She was flanked by a nurse carrying a thermos. I knew exactly what was inside. “Summer, dear,” the old woman said, her voice sharp despite the endearment. “Drink this. You and Silas have been married long enough. It’s time we saw some results in that belly of yours.” Evelyn Ford was the only person Silas truly respected. I had spent years trying to win her over, despite her making it clear she thought a girl from the streets wasn’t fit for the Ford name. She had only tolerated me because Silas had been so unyielding about our marriage. Since the wedding, she had bombarded me with “traditional remedies” and fertility tonics. I used to drink them to keep the peace. I hated the smell of medicine—it made me nauseous—but I’d endure it, even if I threw it all up afterward. Not today. “I’m not drinking it,” I said. Evelyn’s face contorted. “Don’t you forget what you promised when you entered this family.” “I’m divorcing Silas,” I said clearly. The room went dead silent. Even the nurse looked up in shock. Everyone knew how much I loved him. They had built their cruelty on the foundation of my devotion. Now, that foundation was gone. 11 After kicking the old woman out, I went to a lawyer. I had the divorce papers drawn up and started looking for a new city. The rain didn’t stop for three days. It felt like the city was mourning the death of the woman I used to be. That night, I drank a little too much wine and fell asleep on the sofa. I dreamed of our Queens apartment. Those New York winters were brutal. I’ve always been sensitive to the cold, and back then, we couldn’t afford the heating bill. Silas used to wrap himself around me every night, acting as my human space heater. He had been so tender then. Everyone envied me for having a man so devoted. We had crawled out of the darkness together, hand in hand. On our wedding day, he had held me so tight his knuckles turned white. “I finally have you,” he had whispered, his eyes red. “I’ll make you the happiest woman alive. Just promise you’ll never leave me.” My phone vibrated, jarring me awake. It was a message from Tiffany. Three photos. One of her in a hospital gown. One of Silas sitting by her bed, looking at her with heartbreaking tenderness. And the last one: a photo of the door to the OB-GYN clinic. The dream was over. It was time to wake up. 12 “Sorry, Summer. The baby’s been a bit unstable these last three days, so Silas has been staying at the hospital to look after us.” “Oh, wait—did I forget to tell you? I’m pregnant. Silly me, it just slipped out.” I stared at the screen, unmoved by her amateur dramatics. I saved the photos and drove to the hospital. Silas was a man of habit; when he cared about someone, he bought the best. It wasn’t hard to find him. I found the maternity ward. I saw them immediately. He was supporting her by the waist, walking with agonizing slowness as if she were made of glass. “I’m not that fragile, Silas,” she giggled. “Maybe not,” he said, his voice thick with affection. “But he is.” He placed a hand gently over her stomach. She beamed, leaning in to kiss him. Silas caught her by the shoulders, then leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. It was a beautiful picture. They looked like a perfect, happy family.
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